Black And White
by Thefallenheart
Summary: Its about a Space Marine in Black And White armour. Go and Google the joke called 'The Black And White Space Marine With The Black And White Bike'. Or don't. It's a free country more or less.
1. Chapter 1

Black and White

**Black and White**

The impact of the mortar shell fell not three feet from private Dellwick sending a geyser of scalding steam and mud screaming heavenward to a thunderclap applause. Rifle held grimly in hand he dove for the nearest cover in reach, a fragment of wall still standing desolate and solitary, for the scant protection it offered. What the wall had been part of was anyone's guess as the land was as ruined as the structure it had once been a part of. Nothing but desolation as far as the eye could see, a landscape of beauty defiled by men, mud slick with the blood of the slain and sullied by soulless mechanisms of war unholy. Bodies lying unburied loyalist martyr and rebel monster alike, now both sharing the sleep that could never be broken as Lady Death stole their soles from the world and made them leave it as equal to each other as they had entered it. And some would say before their time. All across the field of carnage men scurried forward like ants in the teeth of a gale. Such was the ferocity of the hell storm loosed against them. Such was the malice and hate of the false gods their rebels worshiped. A million sacrifices upon the alter of battle, a million souls gone from the land of the living, a million bodies gutted and mutilated for the relentless laughter of the gatteling guns, the snigger of laser weapons and the deep guffaw of the oath breakers heavy artillery.

Mustering the courage that he knew he rightly did not have private Dellwick scampered across the writhing tortured earth in the direction of the enemy trench on the far side of no-mans land, now seemingly as distant as the slopes of hell and just as inviting. Shells smashed into the earth like hammer blows and all around a background noise to the rain of death, the screams and moans and wails of the dying. A stubber shot flattened its self against his PDF issue soup-bowl helmet and Jonston Dellwick silently gave praise to the Him on Terra for the sparing of his life. The force of the shot had driven him backwards and flat on his back against the mud. His uniform and armour now utterly coated in spilt blood and mud intertwined he sprinted forwards the last closing yards over the lip of the enemy trench and into the pit of traitors and oath breakers that had once been brothers in arms now Chaos scum.

Staggering over the lip of hell and into the abyss of damnation. A man in the defiled uniform of a Sergeant received a bayonet through the eye and into his brain pulling the weapon free private Dellwick turned to see another man bearing the stigma of chaos induced mutation raise his weapon and would but failed to shoot as a laser beam from Dellwicks own pierced his heart.

A stabbing pain shot through his body as the cold of steel sliced through his armour and into his flesh. Plunging deep and tearing upwards with a wet gristly sound as the pain threatened to overwhelm him and plunge him into unconsciousness. The blade was removed with a grunt and his assailant moved on, stepping over his prone form. Pain blossomed as his lifeblood drained away to add its slickness to the thirsting ground. The enemy soldier, once so like him, strode away along the length of the trench. Private Dellwick tried to raise his weapon at the retreating back but his arms were far too heavy and his rifle had become made out of lead.

Suddenly a shower of blood and gore and broken bone streamed out of the rebels back in a fountain of crimson and the corpse hit the floor with a squelch of ruptured innards. Striding through the fading light and the fog of battle a colossal form emerged its footsteps like the hammering of vast artillery shells and its deathly scream emanating from its skull formed helm was not a cry of battle but a lament that it could never cause enough death and carnage. The Aquilla proudly displayed upon its chest. The Emperor had sent one of His angels to avenge him. And a name arose unbidden in his mind of story his mother had taught him when he was but a child. This was The Black And White Space Marine. And Dellwick died with a smile upon his lips fore he knew his world and all he held dear would be saved.


	2. Chapter 2

The underground bunker was rank with the smells of unwashed bodies, stress and fear

The underground bunker was rank with the smells of unwashed bodies, stress and fear. With no natural sunlight the wretched place could quite accurately be described as looking like hell on the day they let the fire go out, complete with paper work. The Governor, High General, two Lesser Generals, the Captain of the 9th company of the Sons of Gulliman Chapter and a half dozen military advisors were pouring over the map affixed to a long desk. Much shouting and raised voices could be heard. It was evident that the war against the traitors was not going well, fortune and the fates seemed to be smiling upon the oath breakers and all hope of a quick victory seemed lost. The war had been going for the better part of a year and already the death toll was well into the millions.

Governor Enoch stared at the map willing the lines of trenches that bisected the main Continent to move and wither and disappear. To wither away and take with them their sorrow and their misery and their woe. Such a loss. Such a terrible loss. His family had gently ruled the world of Xylon III since the Age of Strife and since the Old Night ended his family line had been unbroken and unblemished. For more than ten long millennia his world had been prosperous and wholesome and good. It was abhorrent to think that vile Chaos scum walked plainly upon the land, defiling it with their taint, with their very existence. It was sickening.

The commotion around the table slowed as the hairs on the backs of everyone's hands and necks started to rise. The primitive parts of the brain, the parts that were older then war and weapons and even older than humanity it's self, caused everyone to become very wary and aware of their surroundings. The babble sunk further still as every man and woman in the command post felt the change and charge in the air. Until suddenly a brittle silence descended on all but one; the guards on the other side of the armoured adamantine door.  
'Who are you?' The leaders of war could hear, awe and abject terror evident in the elite guard mans voice. And then a second voice as cold as a glacier and as menacing as the business end of a bolter.  
'I am The Black And White Space Marine.' The words were like a declaration of hostilities in themselves.  
'Surely not The Black And White Space Marine?' whimpered the horrified guards man.  
'Yes The Black And White Space Marine. You will let me past; for I have business with your Governor and I will not be stopped.' It was not an order. An order implies that there is the possibility of disobedience regardless of the consequences. This did not. It was merely a statement cast in iron of how the future was going to be.  
The luckless guards man that day earned himself a medal for utmost bravery as he stood his ground for nearly four whole seconds before surrendering to inevitability and punching the code into the door and fleeing. The piston bolts of the door clacked out of their moorings in the ferro-crete of the walls and swung ponderously aside. The corridors were wreathed in gloom compared to the well-lit council room and from the gloom a shadow detached its self and strode forth, driving the shade before it as the sun drives forth the night. All were stunned by his dark majesty and sinister magnificence until Captain Drolgan of the 9th Company of the Sons of Gulliman spake thusly:  
'What is that travesty doing in this place? That abomination thrice damned!' The words were spoken with such venom that and hate that they seemed to etch themselves into the very air its self like some almost visible spectre of utter loathing.  
'Lord Governor Enoch' hailed the giant in the formal by rank and by title, completely ignoring the petulant mewing of his brother marine. 'I have answered your plea for aid and offer you my services, such as they are.'

What the Governor saw as he looked up into the face of the Astarte was a truly chilling sight. He was dressed in the blessed power armour so synonymous with all members of his kind. And across from shoulder to hip was a cloth dripping with medals from a thousand worlds across half the Imperium. There was the iron and silver wolfs head of the Space Wolves the gold aquilla of the Mordigarion 47th Regiment (Scorn Bringers), the crimson cog of the Gryphonone IV 67th Skiterii Legion and a thousand others all glittering and proud. All representative of a war won for the Emperors Realm and humanities continued survival. And if any present had thought to look closer they may have discerned several Eldar and Demiurg and even a Tau badge of honour as they glittered and sparkled, the only colour on his completely monochrome armour toped by a skull formed helmet.


	3. Chapter 3

'Listen not to this renegade

'Listen not to this renegade. This _thing_ is nothing more than a degenerate turncoat.' Said the Captain of the 9th with the glimmer of hate naked in his eyes.

'I do not take kindly to insults. Speak to me in such a way again and I shall strike you down Son of Gulliman.' Intoned the monochrome astarte in a voice bereft of human warmth

'Who would you have me listen to Captain? You who would see my daughter sacrificed?' it was not the done thing for a planetary governor to openly show tears. But never the less there was a slight dampness to the eyes Lord Enoch. Queens may weep but a king may not.

'What is this talk of sacrifice?' asked the Black And White Space Marine.

'The oath breakers have my daughter and are threatening to kill her if our forces do not pull back to the Tallwall Mountains. I will not see the last of my kin die.'

'The Codex Astartes tells us "any hostage taken in war is already dead. Treat them as such." Your daughter is already lost Governor, get used to it.' Replied Captain Drolgan

Quicker than the eyes of the mundane humans could follow the Captain was flat on his back with a dark armoured boot pressing him into the ferro-crete floor. From where he lay the captain was looking up the dangerous end of an ancient Mk IIc Godwyn pattern bolter with drum magazine, targeting scope and bayonet. Looking past the weapon that was taking up most of his vison and possibly all of his future he could see stright into the eyes of the skull-formed helm and for the first time in near three hundred years knew what it was to feel fear.

'Govener Enoch, pull your men back to the Tallwall Mountains but have them ready to storm forwards again at a moments notice. This promice I make to you, I will find your daughter and bring her home. Upon my word you have it.' There was a brief pause as the giant seemed to think about something. 'I require the use of a psyker adept in the arts of scrying.'

The boot was removed from Captain Drolgans chest.

Garad the Butcher was a great warrior. His name feared upon a hundred worlds. Where he walked the grass would never grow again. A legion of corpses were his, a million skulls all an offering for the Throne of Bone, his armour stained forever red with the blood of martyrs and saints.

The chain-axe in his right hand was silent for the moment. Silent but yearning. Soon there would be butchery and slaughter enough to sate its, and his, bloodlust. For a time. But right now he had to guard the base. It was an old military compound buried under the biggest mountain on the planet. The only way into it was door at the foot of the mountain. The only way out was the same. You had to give the servants of the corpse credit for that at least. They were experts at building impenetrable fortresses.

The handle of the chain-axe dipped slightly, dragging his fingers behind it, giving out a hungry roar. It craved the taste of warm blood again. But some things were all the better for the anticipation. The corpse worshiping fools of this world would know his blade soon enough. He could almost taste their flesh in his mouth.

Suddenly survival instincts honed to perfection by more than a millennia of war caused his body to throw its self to the floor as two bolts flew through the now vacant space were his head would have been. Bouncing back up to his feet he was barely quick enough to block the up-swing of a sword, his chain-axe teeth screaming as they encountered the resistance. A mailed fist dinted the side of his ancient helm with a very audible clack and an armoured boot was brought round heavily in a low arc that swept his legs from under him. Unable to find purchase his body tumbled un-ceremoniously to the ground. It was barley half way through its decent when he felt the icy-cold almost overwhelming stab of agony pass through him as the blade was driven remorselessly through his chest. A sudden convulsion as the frigid burning of an activated power weapon caused the flesh to seal and prevent what he knew in the Imperial Guard to be known as 'a bleed out situation'. From his prone vantage point nailed to the floor he looked up at his assailant, he looked up at the ceramite and adamantine form as black as the void of space and as white as hoar frost toped by a skull formed helm. Reaching down the figures hand filled the traitor astartes field of vision like the hand of a god. Reaching down the fearsome warrior wrenched off Garad the Butcher helmet. Raising it up to his face he activated the communication device that he used to communicate to his brothers.

**'I HAVE FOUND YOU!' **Screamed the warrior into the helmet before crushing the face of it and letting it clang to the ground. And with a twist of his mighty blade he ended Garad the Butcher.


End file.
